07 June 2011


With a quiver amongst the leaves
A baby bird prepares for flight
Not knowing where it will end up
He starts to fly

Over mountains and among oceans
This baby bird finds its wings
Playfully circling around the clouds, it doesn’t meddle with the sun
Like wax, the bird’s wings are delicate
Not wanting its life to end early, the bird flies

With one fell swoop, the bird lands
Across the glossy silvery surface of water, it catches fish
Its feet latched firmly onto the fish,
It flies to a nearby branch to feast.

With this routine of food and rest set, the bird journeys far
Until it lands on top of a lighthouse,
A beacon for wanderers and travelers alike,
As it rests and waits.